


Just a Smooch

by skerb



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Birthday, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gentleness, Grillby's Restaurant (Undertale), Kissing, Light-Hearted, M/M, Shy Sans (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skerb/pseuds/skerb
Summary: It's Sans' birthday, and he doesn't want much. Heck, he doesn't even want people to know, but Grillby insists onsomething. So Sans works up his courage to ask him...
Relationships: Grillby/Sans (Undertale), Sansby
Comments: 35
Kudos: 175





	Just a Smooch

“ _It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”_

The question catches Sans a little off guard. In fact, he’s so thrown by Grillby’s abruptness that he nearly teeters off his stool, losing the straw to his drink in the process. When he resituates himself, Sans grins more out of defense as he catches the indulgent smile on the fire monster’s face before it discreetly wisps away.

“ _Thought so.”_

Sans feels heat in his face that has nothing to do with the homey atmosphere, nor his friend’s ambient firelight. Fumbling, he reaches across the counter for another straw from the dispenser.

“What, do I, uh…” He squirms a little and taps the glass with the tips of his fingers as he sits back down. “Do I look older or something?”

Grillby smirks in a way that tells Sans he must’ve said something endearing. His face burns. He’s probably blushing. His soul gives a nervous thump when Grillby leans over the bar, and immediately Sans can feel every eye around them lock onto them.

“ _Perhaps you do.”_

Sans laughs quietly to himself and murmurs a quiet swear. He leans back a little so the rolling heat from Grillby’s flames isn’t so intense, then slurps loudly on his vanilla milkshake. Grillby’s expression arranges into a slight wince.

“Liar,” Sans mumbles around the straw.

Grillby indulges him with a crooked grin, one that makes Sans shy down to the counter.

“ _Your brother… is decorating outside your house.”_

Sans grimaces almost painfully. “That’s just gyftmas stuff, dude.”

“ _On a schedule,”_ the fire monster reminds him gently. “ _Or so he says. Made it clear with many audible winks and air elbows that it isn’t for him. Nor for others. Just ‘another’s. It’s clear.”_

Sans hides his flushed face by pulling the side of his hood up, blocking the view from the curious crowd. Even with Grillby’s brilliant glow, Sans tries to conceal the way he’s pointedly avoiding Grillby’s gaze by staring fixatedly at the jukebox in the corner of the bar.

After a moment, Grillby seems to reconsider and leans back from the counter. Sans can still feel his eyes on him, heavy like warm hands. He takes another obnoxious slurp from his glass before he sets it down and attempts another glance Grillby’s way.

Grillby nixes that idea by offering what’s on his mind very plainly; “ _What would you like?”_

Sans’ face colours a little more. He coughs under his breath. “That isn’t necessary.”

Playfully, Grillby scoffs. When Sans doesn’t reply, his voice is softer than its gentle lilt. “… _Truly?”_

Somehow, that makes guilt twist in Sans’ non-existent gut. He worms his gaze between his arm and his shoulder, peeking at the brilliant light source across the counter. Grillby almost looks disappointed in those last few seconds it takes for him to conceal his expression.

Sans has gotten used to how he expresses himself. Carefully, since he knows Grillby does genuinely want to give him something, Sans just shrugs. It’s no big deal. He’s fine with whatever Papyrus concocts and the shindig that’s to follow.

It’s not that he doesn’t want anything from _Grillby,_ it’s just that he wouldn’t know how to accept it gracefully. Everything up till then has always been heartfelt and overwhelming, and Sans isn’t really that kind of guy. When he feels too much, his soul can’t take it. To offset the emotions, Sans normally makes a joke out of it.

It’s the worst problem to have. He doesn’t want to make a joke out of Grillby’s sentiments. So he can’t ask for anything. He can’t accept anything.

“ _A cake?”_

Oh no, but Sans _does_ love sweets. Grillby plays right into his heart that way. The corner of his mouth twitches, threatening to split into a grin.

“You don’t gotta, man. Trust me, it’s not really worth the effort.”

Grillby’s flames plume out briefly, and his expression is a little more difficult to read. Uh oh. Sans doesn’t flinch, but he stares warily at Grillby, praying that he doesn’t take it personally.

It seems like he doesn’t. Grillby’s fire arranges in such a way to infer that he’s a little upset (crap), the tips of his flames curling like an annoyed cat’s tail. They flick slightly, though after his initial reaction, it dies down a little. Just a bit.

Sans grins then, because he has no self-control. He props his elbows up onto the counter and slurps from the straw again.

“ _I have some… pokefruit leather,”_ the fire monster offers, crossing his arms over his chest. “ _Although… it would not work in a pastry.”_

“Uh-”

Grillby’s lenses almost flicker when he looks at him. Suddenly Sans feels very, very small. He shrinks down.

“It’s fine, Grillbz. Honest. I don’t need anything. I already have all I could want,” he mumbles as a hand seeks the sooty kiss mark on his throat from a couple weeks prior. He maintains composure even as the fire monster watches him, waiting as though to see through the ruse.

Ruthlessly, Grillby leans over the counter again, though his stance is wide as he pours into Sans’ personal space. Sans can practically feel the warmth coming off his breath as Grillby murmurs something next to his skull.

“ _Choose something. What does your little heart desire, my love?”_

Before Sans can protest, Grillby pulls away, leaving him flushed and burdened. Sans gapes at him, stunned at the pet name, the fact that Grillby won’t let him go without some kind of gift, and with the stark realisation that, hey, maybe Sans wants something _after all._ Grillby has a way of plucking at his heartstrings as much as anything else.

He wants…

Yeah, he wants. Grillby has a way with food. He perfects concoctions and meals on the daily. His stores are bursting with good stuff, treats and earthy spices that make Sans want to curl up and inhale his neck to compare. He’s open and forward with his affection, even for someone who self-proclaims that he’s as shy as Sans is.

And yet, Sans is the shy one. He can’t even form the words, but his eyes drift down a little to Grillby’s manifested mouth, quirked with an anticipatory smile. He’s patient. He’s kind. He wants to do good by him.

And Sans is a mess.

Suddenly remembering that they have an audience, Sans folds an arm onto the counter and buries his head into the crook of his elbow. He can practically feel the cloth warm up from his face. Ever-so-gently, Grillby chuckles and pats him on the head. His touch lingers just a little, a light curl to his fingers. It makes Sans’ soul squeeze with longing.

  
  


It takes a fair amount of time for him to get out of his hiding spot. Grillby makes his way back now and again to provide a good listening partner, but it’s moot when Sans doesn’t know what to say. Awkwardly, Sans passes a hand over his face as though to rub away the warmth, but he can’t control it.

When Grillby turns away, Sans’ eyes automatically follow him.

Ok, so maybe he’d like one thing. It’s just a matter of _asking_ for it.

Which… means saying it out loud.

In front of _everyone._

Unless he stayed here for literal hours until everyone went home, which would only mean all their neighbours would speculate _past_ that, as though Sans wants to spend the night upstairs with Grillby.

…

Yeah, no.

Sans huffs out a breath as though to prepare himself when Grillby strolls by with two platters of food. Grillby hums inquisitively, but he doesn’t linger for long when Sans fails to spit it out. Sans just ends up curled on his perch, watching as his milkshake eventually turns into sweetened melted cream.

_What does your little heart desire?_

To be honest, he’s been feeling a little affectionate lately. Craving things. His eyes linger on Grillby’s hands and mouth. Simple things that he doesn’t normally take stock of, he’s interested in.

He wants a kiss.

Afflicted with the colour seeped down to his marrow, Sans makes sure to face away from the growing crowd around him. Not that people are gathering, but it’s getting close to the dinner rush. Soon, Grillby won’t have a moment to spare for a couple of hours. Unless Sans met up with him in the kitchen…

No, that’s… probably too risqué. Or at the very least, people would catcall and whoop when Sans sneaked back to his seat.

On his way back to the counter, Grillby gently touches Sans’ shoulder. When Sans automatically looks up, his smile is warm. He chuckles to himself, his soul doing a neat little flutter when the fire monster drifts away like a candle in the wind.

Yeah, he wants a kiss.

  
  


As the evening progresses, Sans flags Grillby down. A lot of eyes are on him, but it’s loud enough not to hear their conversation over the din of amused voices. Sans figures he’ll just have to whisper it directly, otherwise Papyrus just might come by and make a scene. Then _everyone_ would know that it was his birthday and the day would become even more awkward.

Grillby comes over. None too discreetly, Sans grabs him by the apron, his best, doofy smile on his face. It’s a little crooked, but Grillby looks and feels like it doesn’t matter.

“That, uh… offer,” Sans manages, only barely eking out the words as Grillby leans down to hear him. He likes the way his warmth branches out to envelop him like an invisible hug. “C’n I… can I get somethin’ sweet?” he almost chokes.

Ok, welp.

That’s close enough.

Grillby’s eyes glitter knowingly. “ _Why, Sans… I was beginning to think that I’d gone too far.”_

Sans appreciates that. He rubs at his neck, the bones jittering together like old mechanics. His face feels hot.

“Yeah, yeah…” he mumbles a little fondly.

Grillby looks pleased that Sans has a request. He rests his hand on Sans’ back, warming him right to his core. Sans has to hold back a soft sigh of appreciation.

“ _And… do you have any idea of what you’d like?”_

Sans’ grin goes a little crooked again. His eyes wander down to Grillby’s bow tie, thinking about how easy it’d be just to tug him down by it and claim the kiss for himself.

But he’s not gonna do that because that isn’t _him._ Besides, what kind of gift would it be if he snatched it from Grillby? And who would he be to just _grab_ it?

“A-”

Sans stops and swallows, gives their audience a side-eye before he looks back to Grillby’s face. Then he promptly averts his gaze to his bow tie again.

“A smooch is enough,” he says as quietly and as quickly as he can as though expecting to be laughed at.

But Grillby doesn’t laugh. There isn’t even a telltale chuckle or clip of his flames to betray him. He gets _warm,_ though, like he’s pleasantly surprised and endeared with such a request. Sans, on the other hand, feels like his face is going to burn off from sheer embarrassment.

Grillby leans in. Sans lets him, though his eyes widen just a bit. He glances off to the patrons trying not to stare but at the same time, this should be old hat by now. But it’s not. Sans closes his eyes as he feels Grillby get closer, and…

Nothing happens.

A gust of pleasantly warm air hits his face as Grillby exhales. Sans opens an eye to peek, his body drawn up tight like a bow. His hands are stiff, resting on the counter. Bereft of kisses, he huffs out a startled noise when Grillby leans back.

“ _One moment,”_ the fire monster murmurs, his voice calm and smooth. Sans’ throat feels tight; he can’t reply, even though he wants to. He wants to quash all the what-ifs and the twist of rejection from his head. He’s stunned in one spot as Grillby reaches up and over the counter, grabs something small, and pops it into his mouth with a pleased smirk.

Sans doesn’t think longer than the thirty seconds it takes to melt down. Grillby joins him on the seat beside him, cups the side of his face with one hand so tenderly that it feels pleasant after all the tension. Sans almost whimpers, but he manages to catch the noise early enough to avoid feeling silly.

He can’t help but lean in closer as Grillby moves towards him. He smells the heady scent of caramel, warm spice and the cream from his neglected milkshake. It’s a birthday cake in the air. Sans feels the shot of anticipation that lances through his body when Grillby tilts his chin up to meet with him, their mouths interlocking in a semblance of a kiss.

It’s practised, slow and careful. Grillby’s mouth is sweet, melted sugar fizzling on his tongue as Sans is fed the dissolving cube through the kiss. It certainly catches him off his game. Sans’ breath hitches when Grillby pushes forward more, stealing his breath, feeding him kisses until he’s breathless and hot. His mouth tastes like sugar and spice, a heady drink that Sans has never had before.

The slow kiss is like spun taffy. When Grillby breaks it off and pulls away, Sans nearly follows him, breathless and distracted enough to nearly tumble from his seat. Grillby’s hand pushes against his chest, a firm weight that’s gotta feel how hard Sans’ soul is drumming right now.

Grillby adjusts his hoodie, drawing up his hood over his skull to hide Sans’ flushed face from view. His smile is indulgent and warm, wrapped up in a bow. As laughter whoops around them, he looks extremely pleased with himself as Sans struggles to find words.

“ _Have a sweet birthday, Sans.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday ♥ :D


End file.
